


Truce.

by The_Magic_Rat



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Farts, M/M, juvenile humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26059783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Magic_Rat/pseuds/The_Magic_Rat
Summary: Gabriel, Sandalphon and Michael are ordered to make nice with the Ineffable Idiots, but things don’t quite go to plan.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 95





	Truce.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from. It was supposed to be tense and steamy but just came out gassy.
> 
> Check out the amazing reading done for this on Drunk Storytime by Quefish! 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FknVemFQxds&feature=youtu.be

Good Omens – Truce

Author: The Magic Rat  
Rating: PG  
Pairings: Crowley/Aziraphale, Gabriel/Beelzebub.  
Warnings: Flies. Farts. Puns.  
Word Count: 1875

Website – Ex Libris: http://www.winter-wood.net/ex-libris/index.html  
Live Journal: http://delaese.livejournal.com/profile

Disclaimer: All Good Omens characters, places and situations are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, and are used without permission and without intent of plagiarism or profit. Copyright for all stories and original characters is with the author, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.

Summary: Gabriel, Sandalphon and Michael are ordered to make nice with the Ineffable Idiots, but things don’t quite go to plan.

Author’s notes: I have no idea where this came from. It was supposed to be tense and steamy but just came out gassy.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Aziraphale was not entirely certain why Mother decided that Gabriel, Michael, and Sandalphon had to make nice with him, but he was not about to question it. In fact he was rather looking forward to it as he carefully drove the Bentley to the apartment he now shared with his favourite demon. Gabriel was seated beside him, Michael and Sandalphon were in the back seat, and the car was having tantrums. As the machine began driving slowly and very jerkily, Aziraphale rolled his eyes and addressed the vehicle.

“If you make us all sick, is that something you really want to deal with? Angel vomit all over your interior?”

The Bentley immediately settled down. Gabriel stared at it, uncertain how to react.

“It understood you?”

“She’s very clever,” said Aziraphale. “And let us be thankful for that because I am not an accomplished driver.”

“Where are we going?” asked Michael, sounding annoyed.

“Into the den of inequity,” said Aziraphale jovially. “The source of all horrors. Crowley’s apartment.”

“Wwwhhhyyy?” whined Michael.

“Mother wants us to make nice,” said Gabriel firmly.

“Wwwhhhyyy?” whined Michael again.

Gabriel looked vexed. “Do I look like I question Mother? If Mother says we must, then we must. Stop behaving like a child.”

Michael stuck out a long tongue and made a face behind Gabriel’s back.

“I saw that,” said Gabriel.

“How?” asked Michael.

“One – rear view mirror, two – I am an angel and I literally have eyes in the back of my head. Now please stop being childish.”

Michael and Sandalphon stared at Gabriel, both with their usual deadpan and vaguely annoyed expression. Then Sandalphon pointed a finger at Michael.

“I’m not touching you,” Sandalphon said.

“I want a pony,” said Michael.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. “I want to smite the both of you.”

~*~*~*~*~

They entered the apartment, each making a face as they smelled something unpleasant.

“Does your demon always stink like that?” asked Sandalphon.

Aziraphale glared at him. “My Crowley does not stink.”

But something did smell awful; like swamp water. “Crowley!” called Aziraphale.

“’Allo, angel!” called a jovial voice from the back of the apartment. Moments later Crowley appeared, looking terribly pleased with himself. He was a complete mess. He was not only soaking wet, he was filthy, covered in mud and dead plants, and squished as he sauntered over to his angel.

“Crowley! What on Earth happened to you?”

“You remember that building a half a block from here that they tore down?”

“Yes?”

“And they found archaeological stuff under it?”

“Yes?”

“So they dug a bloody great hole to get it out, and then the rains came and the hole filled up with water?”

“Yes?”

“Well I didn’t, I wish they’d bloody told me because I fell in.”

“Oh you poor dear, let me pour you a nice bath.”

“In a minute.”

Crowley prowled closer to Aziraphale, smiling down at him in a wholly predatory manner. Aziraphale gazed up at him, his expression utterly without fear. Gabriel braced himself, expecting the demon to lash out in some way, but Crowley did something different. He held up a badly made white alabaster box. It was a terrible piece of art that honestly looked as if it had been made by a very small child with a very big hammer. The three standing behind Aziraphale did not know the story, but it must have been a profound one because Aziraphale immediately burst into tears. As he slowly accepted the box, weeping hard, Crowley edged yet closer. Aziraphale threw his arms around him, and the pair held each other.

“You are the sweetest, most darling…”

Crowley flung his head back and sighed loudly. “Tell everybody, why don’t you.”

Aziraphale managed a smile through the tears. Crowley lowered his head once more, and the two gazed at each other. They were almost nose to nose, eyes locked on one another, standing in a comfortable embrace. Then Aziraphale stepped back slightly.

“I’ll pour you a bath.”

“With bubbles?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale glanced down at the box, tearing up once more. He raised his eyes to look at Crowley again. “Thank you.”

“Any time, angel.”

There was another long and very intense pause, then Aziraphale went off to start Crowley’s bath. Crowley watched him go, then looked to the trio before him. Sandalphon was about to speak, but Crowley was not interested in anything this being had to say.

“You’re going to shut your stupid little mouth right now or I shall spit hell fire straight down your throat and then toast marshmallows over your flaming corpse.”

“I don’t think he likes you,” said Michael dryly.

“I don’t like any of you,” said Crowley. “You’re only here because it’s important to my angel. And why that would be I haven’t enough imagination to comprehend, and I’m the one who created binary code.”

“We swear to respect your home and be on our best behaviour,” said Michael. “It’s important to Mother as well, so we won’t be causing any trouble.”

“Good,” said Crowley. “Because rude angels get the cheap wine.”

Gabriel scoffed. “Is that supposed to deter us?”

“Well it works on me,” said Michael. The angel stepped forward and extended a hand. “Hello, I’m the Archangel Michael, you have a very lovely home.”

“Thank you,” said Crowley, accepting the hand. “I’m the Serpent of the Garden, very nice to meet you. Would you prefer the Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Grand Cru, or the Domaine Leroy Musigny Grand Cru?”

“Oh I’ve never had either of those!”

“Good, I’ll get out a few bottles of the fancy stuff, my angel can cut us up some cheese, and we can have a wine tasting.”

“Temptation accomplished,” said Michael.

“And what about us?” asked Gabriel.

“There’s some sticky-sweet wine coolers in the fridge that I serve when my elderly neighbour pops by for a visit.”

“That’s a bit rude,” said Gabriel.

“No, rude would be if I shoved a bottle up your backside and used your inordinately clenched bum hole to remove the cap.”

Michael slammed both hands over her mouth to avoid laughing out loud. Gabriel looked outraged. 

“I am an angel, I do not have a… ‘bum hole’.”

“Then that would explain why you’re full of shit.”

Michael was laughing too hard to stand. Sandalphon glowered at the demon.

“I believe we are all here to make nice.”

“No, you are,” said Crowley. “I’m here to devour your skull in the event you upset my angel. Parlor’s this way. C’mon.”

Michael followed Crowley, snorting and snickering. Gabriel stared violet beams of hate at the back of Crowley’s skull.

“Gabriel,” Sandalphon said quietly, “need I remind you that Crowley was perfectly willing to face down Satan Himself with only a car door handle? It might be better to just not butt heads with him for the moment.”

“One of these days I am going to skin that snake and turn him into matching boots and belt with enough leftover for a jacket.”

“You can’t wear those colours,” Sandalphon reminded him.

Gabriel grit his teeth. “And on the Twelfth Day, Mother invented dye and bleach.”

“You’re not making nice.”

“Oh shut up.”

They entered the room Crowley called a parlor, and found Aziraphale setting up a full tea, with Beelzebub seated in one of the chairs.

“Why are you here?” asked Gabriel.

“To watch Crowley lunge at your face when you insult his chubby little angel-toy.”

“You’re such a bundle of delight.” 

Gabriel paused as he noticed a small and ancient statue on a table. It was marble trimmed in gold and onyx, and featured a demon and an angel. They seemed to be fighting…? Wrestling…? He peered closer at the exquisitely made piece. 

Oh. No. Neither. Definitely neither.

Aziraphale finished setting up the last few delicacies, then turned to Crowley. “Your bath’s all ready, dear.”

Crowley briefly dipped his head to touch noses with Aziraphale. “Let me know if they get out of hand.”

“Of course, dear. Enjoy your bath.”

Crowley prowled off to the bathroom, while Aziraphale seated himself with his guests. He held up a cookie and addressed Beelzebub’s fly. 

“Is this your cookie? I think it is.” 

“What’s its name?” asked Sandalphon, who actually did not care.

“Stephen Spielbug,” said Aziraphale as he placed the cookie on a napkin on the floor. The fly hopped down to munch it, crunching away at the treat. 

“Aren’t you going to give her jam, too?” asked Michael. “Don’t flies like jam?”

“NO!” said Aziraphale and Beelzebub at the same time, with the same note of horror in their voices. “No,” repeated Aziraphale, this time in a whisper. “Never give her jam. Horrible, unspeakable, things happen when she has jam.”

The fly buzzed and crunched. Gabriel stared at it. 

“She’s a fly. What harm can she do?”

“How about we lock you with her in a small room and you find out?” said Beelzebub, as Aziraphale began pouring the wine. The angel glanced up and smiled as a boy of about 12 wandered into the room, yawning. 

“Hello Adam, did you have a nice nap?”

“Yeah but then I smelled cookies and woke up.” He looked at the fly and froze. “No one gave her jam, did they?”

“No, Adam,” said Aziraphale. “No one gave her jam.”

“Because Wensleydale still cries when he thinks about it.”

“We all still cry when we think about it,” muttered Beelzebub.

Adam took a couple of cookies and sat down. The fly finished her own cookie and hopped onto Adam’s lap to steal bites from his. Gabriel was clearly puzzled.

“What is the harm in giving her jam?”

Adam stared at Gabriel, and said ominously; “She farts.”

“I utterly fail to see the problem.”

Adam glanced at Beelzebub, who nodded. Adam put the fly on Gabriel’s lap. Beelzebub gave the fly a spoonful of raspberry jam. Then angel, demon, and child fled as Gabriel, Sandalphon, and Michael watched the bug slurp up the sweet goo. It emitted a minuscule hiccup, and began washing its face fly-style as the other trio shut themselves in a room on the far side of the apartment. 

“Should we be worried?” asked Michael.

The fly fussed and cleaned. Then stopped, as if pondering its next move. Then there came a sound like an infinitesimally small balloon, leaking. Fifteen seconds later, the screaming began. Aziraphale locked the library door, and sent a text message to Crowley warning him not to come out of the bath.


End file.
